The Silver Crown

by William Bridges

  "So you say. But I know that you were banned from this protectorate by the king, and I intend to find out exactly why you have returned. I certainly will not allow you to torment my family'"

  "I am here," Albrecht said, gritting his teeth, putting a mental cap on his growing anger, "because Morningkill asked it of me with his last breath."

  Warner looked at Albrecht as if he didn't believe him. He then lowered his gaze. "I see."

  Albrecht walked over to Warner. As he came out of the tent, Warner stepped back, obviously not comfortable standing so close to him.

  "I'm sure you're anticipating Seth's Firsting," Albrecht said.

  "Yes. If he is Garou."

  "That will be a feather in Henry's cap, to sire a Garou. He'll get some respect for that."

  Warner turned away, a look of disgust washing over his face. He then wiped his expression clean, replacing it with a stone-faced stare. "Henry is not the father. Joseph Batell is."

  Albrecht narrowed his eyes at Warner. "Was this your doing?"

  "I had to. You wouldn't understand. You don't give a damn for the family. But we have a responsibility. We must breed Garou, and Henry couldn't produce a child. I had to ensure the family an heir, so I turned to a Garou. The chances of a true breeding were better."

  "You disgust me! You and the whole damn pack of Kin families. Look what you've done to Margot! She used to be strong and proud. But this? Forced to lie with a strange Garou just so she can breed a pup? And how is Henry dealing with this? He's probably a self-pitying wreck, if I know him."

  "None of this is any of your business!" Warner said, his face now a mask of rage. "You can't possibly understand the pressures on us!"

  Another voice broke in, from off to Albrecht's left, toward the mansion. "Of course he can't! He doesn't understand honor and responsibility. Too damn proud. That's why he got what he deserved and was kicked out!"

  Albrecht turned to see an older man working his way toward them, leaning heavily on a cane. It was obvious he was having a hard time of it, but his anger was moving him forward.

  "Father!" Warner said, stepping up to the old man and helping him to stand. "You were supposed to be in the car!"

  "Margot said he was here. I had to see it for myself. Couldn't believe it. Come back again, huh?"

  "I don't want to argue with you, Sutter," Albrecht said. "I'm just here for a short visit."

  "Hah! You think you're going to get the crown, don't you? You! A low-bred mongrel! That damn mother of yours — I told her to stay away from my son. But he just had to get mixed up with her! It was a surprise to all of us that she was able to squeeze out a Garou. But when it grew up to be you, I knew I had been right all along. Damn scullery maid!"

  "Father!" Warner said, shocked at the old man's incivility. "That's enough. She was his mother, for God's sake."

  Albrecht knew Warner wasn't shushing Sutter out of respect for his mother. He could see the fear in the man's face: fear from looking at Albrecht's expression, from sensing the growing anger and the impending loss of control that was a trait of the Garou. No, Warner quieted his father out of fear for their safety.

  Albrecht was angry, but he could control the raging within him. This was exactly what he'd expected of Sutter. The old man was his human grandfather, the patriarch of the Albrecht line. The Albrechts were a highly regarded line of Silver Fang Kinfolk whose history with the Garou tribe stretched back to England, and to Holland before that. As such, Sutter was rabidly antagonistic to anyone who stained that line, as Albrecht had done when he was exiled. Jacob Morningkill was Slitter's father, but since Sutter had not bred true — had not been a full Garou — he was a second-class son to the king. When Sutter's son, James, had borne a Garou son — Lord Albrecht himself — Morningkill was considered the boy's Garou grandfather, even though he was technically the greatgrandfather. Since Sutter's son James had not been Garou himself, Sutter was doomed to be a mere footnote in the Silver Fang annals, a simple genetic bridge between Garou generations.

  And he hated it. But instead of attacking the system, he defended it with all his might, living up to his role in society to an extreme degree. And he had handed these traits to his favored son, Warner, Albrecht's uncle.

  "How is my father?" Albrecht asked Warner.

  Warner looked down, unable to meet Albrecht's eyes. "The same. A damn fool still possessed by the bottle. He can't get over your mother's death. Fifteen years of misery he's given himself."

  "And over what?" Sutter cried. "A girl he had no business with in the first place. She wasn't well-bred by any remote definition of the term!"

  "Will you shut up about my mother?" Albrecht said, teeth gritted. He felt the chaotic stirring within his gut, the roiling that warned of a coming frenzy. But he shut his eyes and stilled himself. After all, these were just the bitter ramblings of an old fool.

  Sutter looked at him suddenly, worried, and was quiet.

  "We must be going, father," Warner said, moving toward the mansion, pulling his father along with him. But Sutter seemed to find his courage again and stopped, staring with eyes narrowed at Albrecht.

  "Thank Gaia Arkady is royal! The thought of you on the throne sickens me! Arkady is a real Silver Fang. He is everything we hold high. Not like you. Look at you! A damn tramp. Can't even dress properly to come to your king's court."

  "That's about all I'm going to take out of you!" Albrecht yelled, his voice rising. "You want Arkady on the throne instead of me? Tough! That's my right! My crown to wear! You know something? I didn't want the damn job, and I still don't. But if it'll piss you off, then I am sure as hell going to sit on that seat. And you're going to kowtow to me like nobody's ever seen! Or else you're outta here! Kinfolk can be banished too, you know."

  Sutter looked as if he were choking on a large rock. His face was scrunched up in rage, red and growing redder by the second. He finally managed to open his tension-bound jaws wide enough to say, "You wouldn't dare! You can't be king! You're not half as royal as Arkady!"

  Albrecht stared in utter contempt at Sutter. "Oh? Watch me. You are about to see the fight of a lifetime, old man."

  Warner, pale and fearful for his father's health, led the old man away. Sutter continued to stare at Albrecht, unable to speak out of sheer anger. His eyes shone from their sockets like windows into a furnace, but a furnace he was unable to control or cool down enough even to communicate. He hobbled off like that, aided by his son, and soon disappeared around the corner.

  Albrecht shook his head. What have I done now? I don't want the damn crown. Sure, I want to piss that old fart off big, but I don't want to be king just for that. Well, it doesn't matter; it's not like I've announced it before the court. I can always back out.

  He started back toward Greyfist's office but stopped when he noticed that the Garou workers were no longer engaged in their rite. Rather, they were all staring at him. Some with looks of confusion, some with uncertainty and some with disgust and hatred. But some were looking at him with… with pride. And approval. Some of them were nodding at him.

  Oh, holy Luna! He was in for it now. Practically the entire court had heard him. His declaration was official. The only way out now was to crawl home in even more shame than he had arrived in.

  Albrecht gritted his teeth and growled low. He'd be damned if that'd be the case.

  Chapter Five

  Greyfist kicked the dirt hard. He nodded, satisfied. It was well packed. The hole was sealed up. It would take a bulldozer to open it again.

  He walked across the field to investigate the other two holes. It was hard to believe the Black Spirals had done what they had. Tunneling under the caern for weeks, he estimated. And no one had known. That said terrible things about their alertness. But who would have believed they would come so close, would dare such a feat? And through sheer bedrock, at that! The soil was only eight feet deep here; they had tunneled ten feet under, through solid rock, and then come upwards to break through the soil in the caern field. It's a won
der they didn't come up under the throne. But then Barktooth, the Shaman of the Lodge of the Moon, said that the Grand Oak's roots were deep and thick enough to prevent that. The Black Spirals couldn't have gotten any closer if they had wanted to.

  Greyfist kicked the dirt around the next hole and found it was as well-packed as the first. He did the same for the third hole and was satisfied there also. He nodded to Regina and headed back to the mansion. Behind him, he heard Regina tell her protectors to get about their duties. They had been pulled from their normal posts this morning to seal the holes, and the outer defenses now needed tending to. Soon, Greyfist would once again feel confident about the caern and bawn defenses. If nothing else, the attack had finally woken up the Silver Fangs and made them realize they were in a war. A war not only for Gaia, but for their own protection.

  He heard the Garou talking as they headed off for their posts. The word had traveled quickly and was on the lips of every Silver Fang and Kinfolk in the protectorate: Lord Albrecht was to take his grandfather's place as king. Greyfist smiled. He didn't much care for the Albrechts and the Rothchilds, but they had succeeded where his idealism couldn't. Albrecht was now going to do his duty, and the relief Greyfist had felt when Albrecht yelled his intent for all to hear was greater than any he'd felt in a long while.

  Albrecht was the one for the job; of this Greyfist was confident. Albrecht's own sense of self-worth had been worn down over the last few years, but Greyfist felt that was an asset. At least he possessed some humility — a quality lacking among most of the tribe members here. Oh, it would take a while to convince Albrecht that there really was no one better to rule than he, but Greyfist wasn't concerned about that. Detail, details; that's all that was. It was Arkady he was worried about.

  The high-bred Garou posed a threat to Albrecht's ascension. Greyfist feared he really did have a claim to the throne, even though Albrecht was clearly next in line. Pure breeding was a wild card in Garou politics, and allowed the high-born to break many rules. Well, it would be decided soon enough.

  As he passed by the throne, Greyfist saw the preparations already beginning for the meeting of the courts. In two hours, the Lodges of the Sun and Moon would gather and argue over the tricky issue of ascension to the crown. Ancient records would be consulted and debated, and after a few hours, the Lodges would come to a decision on just who was eligible to rule the Fangs. The problem was that many of the tribal records had been destroyed. Morningkill, in one of his paranoid fits, had set fire to the library a few months ago, and many documents had been lost before the flames were put out. Many more books had been ruined by the water used to douse the fire.

  Of course, all of this precedence nonsense was hardly a problem for the other tribes, who each had their own rules for determining leadership. The Get of Fenris' leaders ruled by might: only those who could successfully defeat them in challenge combat could take their place. The Bone Gnawers valued the eldest among them, or those who had collected the most junk. The Children of Gaia chose the most diplomatic among them — at least, so Greyfist had been told.

  But the Silver Fangs, overly concerned with blood precedence and membership in one of the Seven Royal Families, had to nit-pick their way to the crown.

  Greyfist entered the mansion and climbed the broad staircase to the second floor. He turned down the north wing and walked to the last door on the left. After a pause, he knocked loudly. When there was no answer, he knocked again. After another pause, he opened the door and walked in.

  Albrecht was sprawled across a giant four-poster bed, groggily opening his eyes and looking confusedly at Greyfist. "Uhhhh… wha… what time is it?"

  Greyfist walked over to the window and threw back the heavy drapes, flooding the room with sunlight. Albrecht let out a yell as if he'd been hit by a baseball bat. He covered his face with his arm and tried to pull the covers over him. But Greyfist grabbed the blanket and yanked it off the bed.

  "Oh, no. You're getting up. Now," he said. A long groan was the only answer from Albrecht. "Your presence is requested at court today. The Lodges will decide on the issue of ascendancy. As you are now a contestant for the throne, you really should attend."

  "Do I have to?" Albrecht said in a moan which only happened to sound like words.

  "No. But I recommend that you do. If not, those at court who disapprove of you may find a way to deny your claim."

  "What's wrong with that?" Albrecht said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "That's exactly what I want. I don't want to be king."

  "Then why did you scream that you did to everyone in listening range?"

  "I was angry. I meant to take it back, but great Gaia, it's now an issue of honor. And I'll be damned if Arkady's going to come out of this shining purer than me."

  "So?"

  "So if the court says I can't be king, then I can't. It's got nothing to do with honor at that point."

  "You think that, when they declare you unable to take your grandfather's place, people won't know exactly why? If you don't stand up and fight for your right at court, everyone will know you're just a blowhard coward. It's easy to claim the kingship, but much harder actually to get it."

  Albrecht looked at Greyfist with a surly, smoldering expression. "Thank you, sir. May I have another?"

  "Joke all you want. But get up anyway. Come to court. Do it for me, Albrecht, if for no one else."

  Albrecht looked away and covered his face in his hands, leaning on his knees. "Okay."

  "Okay?"

  "Okay! Okay already! Just get out of here. I'll meet you at court."

  Greyfist smiled and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

  * * * *

  A howl resounded throughout the caern. Guards at the edge of the bawn stopped their tasks and looked back toward the field. Even those out of view of the caern center could not help being drawn to the source of the howl. They all controlled the urge, the instinct, to answer the call, to pick up the howl with one of their own. This summons wasn't theirs to answer. The call went out to the aspirants to the throne, the Garou who sought the kingship of the North Country Protectorate. And all the Silver Fangs knew that there were only two who were bold — or crazy — enough to try for that position. All of them waited quietly, some holding their breath to hear better; waiting for the answering howls.

  There — there was one from far off, outside the bawn, off to the east. Even distance could not hide its rich, deep-throated character. Arkady. The leader of the King's Own Pack was far from the caern, which meant he would not be coming to court, but he answered the howl anyway. Although surprised by his absence, many Silver Fangs nodded as they heard, proud that, even away from the caern, Arkady would do his duty.

  Then another howl, this one closer. Louder, even considering the closer proximity. Not as deep, but angrier, a growling, rage-ridden howl. The howl of Lord Albrecht. The Silver Fangs nodded again, this time more reserved, doubtful. Albrecht had been gone from the caern for a long time, and some were unsure whether they wanted him back. But no one could deny that his howl had been good, had rivalled Arkady's. No matter, though. It was just a howl. Wait for the challenge, they told themselves. The challenge would answer the question: Who would be king?

  * * * *

  Eldest Claw, Shamaness of the Lodge of the Sun and Master of the Rite for the North Country Caern, sat down again, taking in a deep breath to recover from her howl. It had been a loud, long howl, as was necessary to summon the claimants. She waited to hear the answering cries. There was Arkady's, from off to the east. Eldest Claw frowned. The distance meant that Arkady would not be at court today. Was this arrogance? Did he not consider it important enough to come?

  Then came Albrecht's answer, from much closer, over by the mansion. Eldest Claw's eyebrows rose. A good, hearty howl. Perhaps this cub was more qualified than the old lupus had thought.

  She nodded to Barktooth, sitting across the circle from her. The lupus nodded back. They could now get down to business. She looked at Tho
mas Abbot, to her right, and nodded. The Steward of the Lodge of the Sun stood up and began the recitation.

  "Hear ye, all in attendance and Silver Fangs of the court wherever ye be: the Court of the North Country Caern is hereby begun. Absent is our king, the late Jacob Morningkill. Hence, our business this day is the matter of the vacant throne. Two claimants have answered the Howl of Precedence. One, Lord Albrecht, grandchild of Jacob Morningkill and scion of the House of Wyrmfoe, the First Family of the North Country Protectorate. Two, Arkady, scion of the Clan of the Crescent Moon and purest of blood. We are to consider: which of the two claims is greatest? Which of the two shall inherit the throne?"

  "Ruling the court this day, as the matter of worldly leadership is determined, is the Lodge of the Sun. Leader of the Lodge and eldest among us is Eldest Claw, Shamaness of the Lodge. The court is begun..."

  Abbot sat down, and all nodded their approval. Eldest Claw looked about the court. They were gathered in a circle at the foot of the Grand Oak, at the base of the empty throne. The sun shone down upon them; a good sign, considering the precedence of Lodge at today's court. If it had been cloudy, a gloomy fate would have been predicted. It was the Lodge of the Sun's position in court to decide on worldly matters, as opposed to the more spiritual concerns of the Lodge of the Moon. This was why the moot was taking place during the day.

  On one side of the circle sat Eldest Claw's Lodge: herself, Abbot and Mountain Runner, the Squire of the Lodge. Across from them sat the Lodge of the Moon: Barktooth, the Shaman; Shining Outward, the Steward; and Eliphas Standish, the new Squire and Gatekeeper.

  Gathered about them, as witnesses to the court, were Greyfist, the Seneschal; Regina, Caern Warder; and other, lower-rank Garou such as Pale Sire, the leader of a small Silver Fang pack which often roamed northern Vermont, away from the caern and away from politics. Also gathered were members of the Kinfolk families: Warren Albrecht, Desmond Rothchild, Cynthia Batell and a few from lesser families.